26 February 2013

Those priests, on priestly late night love affairs,
Sew nepotism in their merry wake,
And sons of clergy – who are on the make –
Will wash away the scent of earthly cares.
It is not right that bishops should sire heirs
When celibacy is the vow they take.
A simple promise, easy now to break,
When tempted by a strumpet’s downy hairs.
And will the priest be thrown out for his sins?
Or will redemption cast a kindly gaze?
'Twas woman let the lustful devils in,
She'll have no respite from this moral maze.
Her unmarked grave on such a lonely hill:
A fallen woman, falling further still.

22 February 2013

The actors change, the play remains the same:
The story undulates beneath our hands.
A well-worn narrative. The shifting sands
Of circumstance that writhe. Forget my name!
I am but archetype - a mighty claim
From one who knows this life was never planned,
Who snaps the threads of fate, who severs strands
Of duty with my mind's destructive flame.
For we've been taught to envy and despise,
Instead of celebrating all we are.
We find the face of greed in every guise,
Our lungs are blocked by jealousy's black tar.
We'll download all experience for free.
We will not take responsibility.

20 February 2013

Like
wilted petals we will sit, and grievefor
golden summers gone, and childhoods lostbeneath
a blanket of relentless frost.But
tears are fruitless, weeping is naïve:Time
is a trickster – he will always thievethose
precious, fleeting moments when star-cross'dyoung
lovers meet in bowers; when the costis
counted in the passions we achieve.Yet
spring returns, and summer's rainbow hazewill
spread across familiar fields once more,as
grinning Time grants us a few more daysto
heal our hurts, and mend what went before.The
wheel rolls on, it clears the path anew;the
wheel rolls on, and we roll with it too.RJT

18 February 2013

Where all the battles fought are in my head
There are no dragons left for me to tame.
My sword is blunt, my valiant steed is lame.
My armour, once bright white, has rusted red.
Those brave young knights, who guarded me, are dead
And I'm the one to shoulder all the blame.
Each laughing knave was pulled into the flame
By chivalry - where Angels fear to tread.
For seven years he kept her secret close,
The candle burning deep within his heart.
As delicate as any English rose
With thorns with strength to prise their love apart.
At winter's end - no beauty in the bloom.
The petals wilt, as petals often do.

14 February 2013

By posting useless platitudes on Twitter,
She left behind her life beyond the glass.
Forgot the taste of wine, the scent of grass,
And every joy was swapped for something bitter.
In her eyes there is no trace of glitter –
Each memory now lies within the past.
Her avatar and password are her mask.
Her sense of self – like light – see how it flickers!
But she's the first to know about the trends;
Pop culture is the beast that swallowed her.
She just can't be alone with all these friends!
A prophet with a million followers.
Though all the traps were set and plans were laid,
She knew that she was free, and felt afraid.

09 February 2013

the love that’s lost is love – that makes us strong
the love that’s lost is lost – that makes us weep
the loss that’s lov’d seems wrong – unless it’s sleep
who loves that loss seems deep – at least in song
who sings of love seems lost – but never wrong
who sings of loss is lov’d – but not so deep
who loses song is lost – tho’ singing’s cheap
who loses sleep is toss’d – who knows how long?
who knows he’s lost is bless’d – for he will find
who finds he’s bless’d is lov’d – for he is true
who’s true to love is kind – for it will show
who’s bless'd with love will know – yet he be blind
we see who’s love is blind – yet know not who
we see.
whose love is blind?
– and sleep… who knows?

28 Sonnets Later is back! And, like The Godfather Part 2, we’ve added a layer of complexity!
Last February, the four of us
took it in turns to write and post a sonnet a day on this little blog. We
were so happy with the results that we’ve decided to try it again. This
year, however, we’re going to attempt something that (to our knowledge)
has not been tried before: we’re going to group-write a crown of
sonnets.
What’s a crown of sonnets? It’s simple: the last line of the first
sonnet becomes the first line of the second sonnet. The second sonnet’s
last line becomes the first line of sonnet three, and so on – until
sonnet 28. This last sonnet will take its first line from the end of
sonnet 27, and its last line will be the first of sonnet 1. If you’re
still confused, don’t worry – you only have to read them. And spread
them around on Facebook and Twitter.

Thanks to all those who followed us last year and bought the book – we hope you enjoy the next 28 days and poems as much as we do!